It Was Real
by shortbuschick1462
Summary: Thranduil's life is mostly hidden by secrets. After The Battle of the Five Armies, that changes. I'm horrible at summarizing, but basically this is my attempt to flesh out some characterization for the King of Mirkwood. Mainly draws off of Jackson's cinematic interpretation of The Hobbit, not the book itself. Arc is developed with Thranduil/Tauriel interaction.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note****: Writing fiction for The Hobbit because Battle of the Five Armies has slain me. Kind of an unconventional plotline arc here that mainly involves Thranduil/Tauriel because they shared one of the scenes that I connected to the most in BOTFA. If you do not want spoilers because you have not yet seen the movie/read the book, then you should stop reading right now. Also, get yourself together and go watch that glorious movie and read that magnificent book.**

**Disclaimer****: None of the characters or anything else from the franchise are mine. I just came up with this storyline.**

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><p>"If this is love, then I do not want it!"<p>

The sullen elf king of Mirkwood stared at the scene before him. A dark-haired dwarf laid slain on the stones, a pool of burgundy his last bed in life. He vaguely recognized him as one of the line of Durin, Oakenshield's youngest nephew. Tauriel knelt over him. Her fiery hair blazed over his chest and her face was streaked with grief and tears. She lifted her head to meet the eyes of Thranduil. He studied them, those green irises that dually bore darkness and light. This experience had both killed a part of her yet awakened another.

Thranduil knew because he had once been the one kneeling over extinguished love.

"Please," she addressed him, "take it from me!"

Thranduil remained silent. He realized that his earlier judgments and misgivings about Tauriel had been incorrect—perhaps it was possible for an elf to feel something for a dwarf. The elf king felt shame burn in his heart at his decision to banish her. After all, the heart cannot control who it chooses to love, just as Legolas could not help his love for Tauriel.

She sobbed once more. "Why does it hurt so much?" Her eyes beseeched those of the solemn king, searching desperately for guidance.

"Because it was real," Thranduil murmured, not entirely able to keep the emotion of memory out of his voice. He blinked and found moisture gathered on his lashes. Fear and trepidation crept into his chest; it had been decades since he had let himself be this vulnerable in front of someone.

Tauriel breathed. She was captured by the blue crystal of Thranduil's eyes, eyes that she had only ever seen dulled by indifference or flash with rage. Now, they told of a history and a tragedy that had shrouded many years in darkness. They were a glimpse into a soul long burdened by sorrow and torment. Tauriel doubted she would ever know the story of how the elf king came to be this way, but she realized she had never before considered that perhaps, somewhere in his countless years of life, Thranduil had suffered greatly.

She had never considered that perhaps her belief that there was no love in Thranduil was deeply, utterly wrong. She wondered: if he had experienced what she was currently feeling, how had he survived? Tauriel felt as if there were hands around her throat and lungs, fingers interlocked into a death squeeze that threatened to shatter her.

She looked again to the older elf, voice hoarse with tears. "What is this pain? I have never encountered anything like it."

Thranduil gazed at her prone form, at her fists still clutching the folds of the dwarf's cloak. He felt something he had not felt in a long time: pity. "It is heartbreak, Tauriel." His ears heard cries from the battlefield behind; turning, he saw divided orcs scattering, running to the holes in the earth left by the wyrms. The remaining Elves, Men, and Dwarves lived to fight another day.

"The worst is behind us." He glanced back to Tauriel. She pressed a stone of some sort into the dwarf's lifeless palm, closed his fingers over it, and stood, meeting Thranduil's eyes.

"Come," he commanded quietly. The two Sindarin Elves began the walk back down to the corpse-ridden war ground stretched in front of the Lonely Mountain.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:**** For the Elvish in the fic, I'm using an online translator and simply typing out what the actors' lines in Elvish sounded like, so everything might not be completely accurate. Translations will be at the end. Also, for all of you Fili fans…I'm writing an upcoming fic for him because, to be quite honest, I was severely disappointed with his lack of screentime in this film. Kili got all the important moments with Thorin in the movie even though Fili was next in line to be king.**

**Disclaimer:**** I cede to the genius minds of Tolkien and Peter Jackson.**

Night had fallen on what was sure to be a day not soon forgotten. What elves remained were calling it "Auth en' i' Leben Gweth": The Battle of the Five Armies. The Elvenking rested in his tent, staring at the full dinner plate he had left untouched as his mind wandered. How had it come to this? How to honor so many dead?

Thranduil closed his eyes and remembered.

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><p><em>Dáin Ironfoot's brogue thundered over the plain. "The hordes of Hell are upon us! To battle! To battle, sons of Durin!"<em>

_Thranduil watched in horror as rank upon rank of orcs poured out of fresh holes in the earth. He had been fully ready, eager even, to fight dwarves, to give Oakenshield and his kin a good thrashing. _

_Not orcs. _

_The last time the Elvenking had waged war on evil's filth had been in Gundabad, stifling the Witch King of Angmar in an earlier age. He had lost devastating numbers of warriors, his father, his wife, and very nearly his son as well. He had vowed to never again subject his people to their carnage._

_And he didn't want to admit what the sight of them inspired within him._

"_Thranduil!" Gandalf shouted. "This is madness!"_

_The Elvenking didn't want to admit that he was afraid. Afraid of suffering through so many deaths once again. And Legolas…Legolas was somewhere near. _

_Legolas._

_He would not let his son think his father sat idle while a battle against evil raged._

_Thranduil yanked the reins of his elk, charging down the middle of his soldiers. "Gwaeron hâr! Today we fight an enemy we have not faced since the Second Age! Form ranks, Children of Ilúvatar! Lasz, lasz!"_

_The first wave of elves leapt over the wall of dwarves, cutting into the sea of orcs._

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><p><em>Noise. Metal crashing together, swords and axes clashing, yells, screams. An unbearable din that was the sound of war. The Elvenking atop his massive elk heard nothing but his own cries, swinging his sword, cutting down filthy, wretched orcs with each slice. The beast beneath him reared up on his hind legs, gathering power into his muscles, lunging downward to crush enemies under unyielding hooves. The enormous antlers swung left and right, sending bodies flying.<em>

"_I ride for Dale! Keep your company here until you are free to help the Men of Laketown!" Thranduil commanded his general. _

"_Yes, aran nín!"_

_The Elvenking rode away from the center of the battlefield, guiding his mount towards the bridge connecting Erebor and Dale. When hooves began to slap the stone, the orcs guarding the entrance to Dale whirled around, swarming the bridge to stop the king. Thranduil brought a hand down to stroke the elk's muscled neck, listening to his heavy breaths. "Strength, Nadhras. Strength."_

_Seemingly in reply, Nadhras lowered his head, spreading his antlers forth to clear a path among the hordes of orcs. Countless fell off the bridge and careened into the abyss below, screaming. They were fast approaching the archway to the town. Nadhras caught the last six orcs on the tines of his antlers, hefting them into the air. Thranduil swung his sword in a clean stroke; six heads fell from six pairs of shoulders, black blood staining the pure silver of the Elvenking's blade and filling the engraved runes._

_As they passed under the arch to Dale, Thranduil spotted the orc archers too late. Two thick wooden arrows imbedded themselves into Nadhras's chest, and with a last cry, the elk fell. Thranduil was thrown forward. He grunted as his back hit the stones, using the momentum to roll onto his knees. At least twenty grinning orcs stood waiting for him. Fear threatened to seize him, but he thought of Nadhras. The elk had been with him for almost one hundred years. He narrowed his eyes as anger seeped into his veins. The orcs began to close in, and the Elvenking unsheathed his second sword, dispatching the closest demon with deadly accuracy. He had killed seven more by the time a small group of elf soldiers flooded into Dale, rushing to defend their king. More orcs spilled into the square in kind. Thranduil realized that they would probably be overrun, and began to fight even more fiercely._

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><p><em>With a roar, the Elvenking thrust his left blade into the chest of the last orc, swinging his right to slice off the head. The body sank to its knees, then crumpled onto the blood-soaked stones. Thranduil's worst fears were confirmed when he slowly surveyed his surroundings. <em>

_He was the last elf standing. _

_His breath caught in his throat as he looked at the corpses strewn across the snow. Patches of crimson flared out under golden helmets, breastplates, and severed limbs. Dead eyes stared into nothingness, never again to see loved ones or new seasons. His entire guard was decimated._

_Thranduil did not know how long he gazed at the gory sight. The general's soft voice reached his ears from behind. _

"_Hîr nín?" _

_The king never took his eyes from the dead. "Recall your company." There would be no more elven deaths this day._

_The shrill horn sounded into the chilled air, summoning the last of the elves into Dale. Thranduil began to lead them out of the city once they were all gathered. _

"_My Lord!" Gandalf the Gray hurried up to him, leaning heavily on his staff. "Dispatch this force to Ravenhill. The dwarves are about to be overrun; Thorin must be warned."_

_The Elvenking scoffed quietly. "Then by all means, warn him. I have spent enough Elvish blood in defense of this accursed land. _No more._" He began to stride away with what remained of his army in tow._

"_Thranduil!" the wizard called after him in disbelief. His steps did not falter._

_A stray orc darted out into their path on the outskirts of Dale. The Elvenking took off its head without so much as a glance, continuing down the narrow street that would finally lead them out of this forsaken land. A figure suddenly emerged from the brush, standing at the mouth of the exit like a sentinel._

_Tauriel._

"_Ile auta n'uma hai la!" Thranduil and his followers halted. "You will not turn away. Not this time," she hissed. Tauriel watched as the Elvenking's countenance darkened with fury, his eyes turning the color of a storm conjured by Ulmo himself._

_Indignation burned within Thranduil's chest; his fingers curled into fists. "Get out of my way," he growled. The general and soldiers took tentative steps back. Their king was known to have a dangerous temper when provoked._

_The she-elf stood her ground. "The dwarves will be slaughtered!"_

_Thranduil immediately relaxed his posture. So that's what this was about: her little infatuation with one of Oakenshield's company. "Yes, they will die," he agreed condescendingly, slowly walking towards her. "Today. Tomorrow. One year hence, a hundred years from now. What does it matter? They are mortal."_

_In the space of a second, Tauriel drew her bow and pointed an arrow straight at the Elvenking's face. Fleetingly, she wondered what exactly her plan was. Her nerves quivered when she realized she did not have one. "You think your life is worth more than theirs," she accused, "when there is no love in it. There is _no _love in you."_

_Thranduil slowly looked away as the shock of her words settled in, but his blade flashed quicker than light as anger returned like the crack of a whip. Tauriel's bow fell from her hands in two pieces, the arrow dropping harmlessly to the ground. She gasped as the king's blade rose to be level with her throat. _

"_What do _you _know of love? _Nothing_!" Thranduil snarled, his eyes glinting. An image of his wife and of his father came to his mind, and he tightened his grip and his resolve. "What you feel for that dwarf is not real."_

_Tauriel felt tears brimming. The very king she had spent so many years of her life serving was now about to cause her death. She locked gazes with those formidable, stormy irises that towered above her. The sheer amount of rage in them struck fear into her soul. _

"_You think it is love?" Thranduil challenged. "Are you ready to die for it?"_

_Tauriel took a breath that she assumed would be her last and closed her eyes. Time seemed to slow, every second passing like molasses. Suddenly, she heard the soft ring of steel on steel._

"_Ae ile harna nithathon, unu kenethon."_

_Legolas._

_Thranduil stared into the eyes of his son. He saw exactly what he had been looking for in Tauriel: love that one was willing to die for. The Elvenking lowered his gaze and his blade, yielding to the only being in Arda who commanded his love. Legolas turned away and murmured, "I will go with you."_

_He watched in silent agony as the two nodded and headed straight for Ravenhill._

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><p><em>Thranduil raced across the long plane of ice and into the old watchtower, his breaths forming little steam clouds in the air. He had watched Legolas's fight with Borg; the king had hardly realized it, but his son had grown to become one of the most fearsome elf warriors he'd ever seen. Pride welled in his heart. <em>

_Legolas rounded a corner, nearly running clean into his father. The pain of unrequited love nipped at his chest. Seeing Tauriel leaning over the dwarf had only made him realize how he'd been a fool to think he could ever have her._

_The Elvenking peered into his son's eyes, studying his face when he looked away. There was sorrow mixed in those blue irises that matched his own. More than anything, Thranduil wished he could help his son, wished he could take his pain away and hide him in Mirkwood so nothing would ever hurt him again. He started to raise his hand, but stopped when Legolas opened his mouth._

"_I…cannot go back," he confessed. Legolas bypassed his father and continued to walk away, not expecting a goodbye._

"_Where will you go?" Thranduil asked. His son paused and turned back, realizing for the first time that he had no set plans._

"_I do not know."_

_Thranduil could see that Legolas needed guidance. As much as it pained him to do so, he knew his son needed to journey on his own. "Go north. Find the Dúnedain. There is a young Ranger amongst them, you should meet him." Legolas was listening closely. "His father, Arathorn, was a good man. His son might grow to be a great one," Thranduil finished quietly, fully intending a double meaning. His son nodded slowly, and he knew he understood._

"_What is his name?"_

"_He is known in the wild as Strider," the Elvenking revealed. "His true name, you must discover for yourself." Legolas bowed, beginning his retreat once again._

_Thranduil spoke his name once more, a hint of desperation in his voice. "Legolas!" He knew that if he did not tell his son about the past now, then he most likely would never again get the chance. Legolas did not turn around, but he knew he had his attention. _

"_Your mother loved you." The Elvenking saw his son freeze in disbelief. He felt ashamed that he had never before told him about his mother. "More than anyone. More than life," he whispered._

_Legolas felt tears sting the back of his eyes. Why would his father open up now? Why show hints of change when he was departing for an unknown amount of years? Nevertheless, he turned and extended his hand in a gesture of thanks and farewell._

_As Thranduil returned it, his right hand coming away from the left side of his chest, he couldn't help but feel that he was giving his heart fully to his son. It was torturous to watch the only remnant of his wife he had walk away from him, knowing that he may never see him again._

_When the Elvenking blinked, two tears cascaded down his cheeks. Maybe…maybe if he had told Legolas about her sooner, things might be a little different between them. _

_Thranduil sighed, reaching up to dry his face. He took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders before walking forward. His ears pricked up when he heard a feminine sob._

_He walked onto a snowy ledge to see Tauriel kneeling over a fallen dwarf. He looked so very young; Thranduil's throat tightened. Dwarves may not be his favorite people, but he was not ignorant to the fact that war demanded steep prices from all. The king recognized the form as the dwarf that had sidetracked his guard captain while he'd been incarcerated in the dungeons. He almost smiled as he remembered Legolas's angry string of muttered curses and rants of jealousy._

_Tauriel took notice of his presence but did not look away from Kili's face. "I want to bury him."_

_Thranduil's mind wandered to the absence of a grave for his wife. He had never regretted that decision more than in this moment—his choice to not have a gravestone came from his attempt to utterly isolate himself from anything that reminded him of her. He had tried everything to numb the pain, and yet it had only seemed to linger the more._

_The Elvenking nodded slowly. "Yes," he agreed._

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><p>"Hîr nín Thranduil." An elf messenger stood at the mouth of his tent, waiting for the king to pull himself from his reverie.<p>

Sapphire blue eyes opened and flickered up. "Yes?"

"The ceremony for Thorin Oakenshield begins in an hour. Will you attend?"

Thranduil rubbed his jaw. He was skeptical about the dwarves' acceptance of his presence, but he knew it to be the right thing to do. "Uma. I will go."

"Very well, my Lord. I shall send word to Lord Dáin."

"Do you know if Bard of Laketown is also attending?" the Elvenking asked. He found himself to be comfortable with the Man's company.

"I believe so, my Lord. Will you need anything else?"

"Carry word to Tauriel that she will be accompanying me to the ceremony. Hannon le."

The messenger bowed. "Ile ier creoso, aran nín." He ducked out of the tent, setting off to begin his errands.

Thranduil rose from his very-cushioned chair and stretched. He reached for his royal blue velvet dress cloak, draping it around his shoulders and fastening it with an emerald green leaf brooch that reminded him of Legolas. Picking up an object wrapped in a burgundy cape, the Elvenking slipped out into the night.

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><p>The tomb where the body of the King Under the Mountain lay was solemn. The darkness was kept at bay with six torches burning on either side of the room. The stone sarcophagus lay in the middle. The Elvenking had snuck past Dáin's guards and walked in the shadows to get into the room before the ceremony started.<p>

Thranduil reached out and brushed his fingertips across the freshly-carven Dwarvish runes. He set the package he'd been carrying on top of the lid, beginning to unfold the cape. "You were a good man, Oakenshield. A protector of your people and your heritage. I find we are alike in that respect."

The last fold of the cape was moved away, revealing a blade that reflected dancing flames. Thranduil lifted Orcrist from the burgundy fabric, admiring the craftsmanship of his forebears. He ran his fingers down the edge. It was one of the finest weapons he'd ever held; it was only fitting that its final resting place be with one of the finest orc slayers he'd ever seen. The king placed the sword diagonally on the stone lid.

"Aa' ile hoda e' sîdh e' i' thaim en' ilier adars."

Thranduil picked up the cape Orcrist had been cloaked in and exited the chamber, bypassing the guards for a second time in the cover of shadow.

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><p><span><strong>Translations:<strong>

_Gwaeron hâr _– March south

_Lasz, lasz _– Attack, attack

_aran nín _– my king

_Nadhras _– the name I chose for Thranduil's poor elk. It means "pasture"

_Hîr nín _– my Lord

_Ile auta n'uma hai la _– You will go no further

_Ae ile harna nithathon, unu kenethon _– If you harm her, you will have to kill me

_Uma _– Yes

_Hannon le _– Thank you

_Ile ier creoso, aran nín _– You are welcome, my king

_Aa' ile hoda e' sîdh e' i' thaim en' ilier adars_ – May you rest in peace in the halls of your fathers


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: Next chapter. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing, which is unfortunate because Thranduil is gorgeous.**

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><p>Thranduil sank into the plush, high-backed chair of his study with a heavy sigh. Returning home brought both the relief and comfort of familiarity and the burden of repairing things around his kingdom. In their fortnight-long absence, the spawn of Ungoliant had utterly infested the forest. Their webs choked light from the few places it reached. The numbers of the natural predators in the area had experienced steep declines, the dire wolves in particular; the spiders slaughtered the animals who posed a threat to them first. Before the Elves' departure, the giant wolves and spiders had been more or less evenly matched in strength and numbers, but the spiders' growing boldness had simply overrun the wolves.<p>

Piles of scrolls, papers, charts, and maps littered the Elvenking's desk. Inventory queries from Laketown trade, formal letters from other Elf lords bidding the king to come visit. Elrond's was chief among them; Thranduil conceded that he had not visited Imladris in many years, not since he had taken Legolas there when he was very young. He smiled at the memories of Elladan and Elrohir mercilessly teasing his son with the beautiful Arwen scolding them in the background.

The smile faded as quickly as it had come. Mirkwood felt almost unbearably strange without Legolas in it. Ever since he had been born, he had not been away from Thranduil's side for more than a fortnight or two at a time. The Elves of Mirkwood were very fond of their kind, generous prince, especially the young ones who benefitted from his bow lessons. The Elven Guard would sorely miss his contributions to their spider hunts. And Tauriel…while he could not decide on whether or not she ever felt romantically for Legolas, the Elvenking never doubted that they were very close friends. The two had been side by side for over six hundred years. She would miss his companionship. He realized with a start that she did not even know Legolas had departed North to find the Dúnedain.

Tauriel. Thoughts of her brought new and old issues to light. Thranduil had to admit that his hasty banishment of her had not been the least bit wise; decisions fueled by emotions seldom were. Her replacement as captain of the Guard had been filled by the lieutenant, Fendil. He did not even begin to equal her in skill, and the Elves under his command did not respect him as much as they had respected Tauriel. The king himself had lost a good portion of their favor for exiling their beloved captain.

Thranduil, of course, had every intention of restoring Tauriel to her former position. Fendil was a good hunter, but his arrogance and impulsive orders did not endear him to those he commanded. The Elvenking disliked him probably more than those of the Guard.

He sighed once more. He did not know quite how to go about it, but—

A soft noise interrupted his thoughts. His head turned a fraction, his ears perking up. The corners of his lips quirked at the memory of a conversation that was quite similar to the one about to take place.

"I know you're there. Why do you linger in the shadows?" Thranduil stood from his chair and looked towards the dark hallway lying beyond the study's open door. Tauriel slowly emerged.

"I was…just wandering, my Lord. I cannot sleep."

Thranduil raised a brow. "Your wandering brought you to my private study?"

A flush graced the she-Elf's cheeks. "I saw light coming from the doorway," Tauriel admitted.

Thranduil allowed himself a smile. He swept an arm towards the spare chair in the corner of the room near one of the fireplaces. "Please. Sit." He crossed the study to open the wine cabinet, selecting a sweeter brew amidst the soft scrapes of a chair being turned and settled. The king's graceful hand plucked two crystal classes with delicate stems from a rack and poured some burgundy liquid into each. The air in the room was thick with stressed tension that Tauriel had brought with her; the aura seemed to pulse around her, a myriad of emotions and questions not vocalized. For an Elf who had been alive since the First Age, the condition of others was something easily analyzed. Thranduil sensed a quiet anguish about her; a restless tendril that barred her from the peace of sleep.

Without turning, he spoke. "You're having night terrors, aren't you?"

Tauriel said nothing. She was almost embarrassed that the weight of her exhaustion rested so heavily upon the room that the king was able read her as if she were the simplest tome.

If her silence was not answer enough, the look upon her face when the Elvenking sat across from her confirmed his suspicions. He handed her one of the glasses of wine.

Tauriel swirled the brew on her tongue, tasting the sweetness and tartness that fused together to make an exquisite flavor. She swallowed. "Yes," she finally answered, though she knew he did not need to hear it.

Thranduil nodded slowly, taking a few sips from his own glass.

"Loss, Tauriel. It does wicked things to our bodies and minds. It will make us sick so that we cannot eat, and weary so that we cannot sleep. It can be a tool for destruction and wither us away into nothing until we are blown away as dust on the wind. But," he leaned forward, setting the wine upon the oak table, "it is also a tool for building upon what was there before. Loss is the fire that tempers and molds us into newer, stronger people. It is the forge where new runes are engraved upon us to write the next portion of our story. It is a changing season that allows new plants a chance to grow better than the ones that came before. Loss encourages us to keep living and shows us the precarious and beautiful balance of life, Tauriel. It makes you into a new person."

Tauriel could do nothing but stare into his eyes. The wisdom and age of them entranced her, and she could feel his words settling into her soul.

"Do you know what enables loss to be so potent?"

She shook her head.

"Love. Love is the most powerful emotion, Tauriel. It is how our world was made. Love has a hand in the creation of every single thing, no matter the size or significance. It is the roots of the trees burrowed deep into the ground to tie the earth together. Love connects us to others. It is a scary thing sometimes, to be sure. But when you allow yourself to love without abandon, you open yourself up to the most pure and wonderful experiences that will ever touch you.

But you also open yourself up to the chance of loss." Thranduil broke their eye contact and took another drink of wine. "They are connected, Tauriel, like intertwined hands. You will never find one without the other. It is an endless cycle of finding and losing, of defeat and triumph. For others—those who do not live as long—this cycle is relatively short. But we extend through the ages. We must endure this everlasting sequence for a small eternity," Thranduil finished quietly.

"You speak of these things as though they have formed you into a happier person. But you are bitter," Tauriel whispered before she could stop herself. She quickly glanced up to his face and saw a mask of sorrow. "Hîr nín, I am sorry, I did not mean…" The she-Elf trailed off when Thranduil waved his hand to excuse her worries.

"No," he conceded, pouring a steady stream of wine to refill his glass. "You are right. My own experiences have disillusioned me. Perhaps another time, when I feel ready to speak of them, you will know why I am the way I am today. I was once very different, Tauriel…very different." A faraway look came into the Elvenking's eyes, and she knew his mind had traveled to a place where she could not follow, into dreams and memories of times long past. Maybe one day, as he said, she would hear of those stories and histories.

They sat in a companionable silence for a few moments. Thranduil had closed his eyes in reverie and Tauriel savored the rest of her drink. She swallowed the last of it and set her glass down.

"How long?" she murmured. Thranduil's blue irises showed themselves once more. Tauriel took comfort in them, for they were sage. They bore a wisdom that had been acquired through millennia of staying constant when the world had continually changed. Not many Elves could claim the amount of years that belonged to Thranduil Oropherion.

"The nightmares," Tauriel clarified. "How long did they last for you?"

A small smile appeared on the Elvenking's face. So she _had_ been perceptive enough to tell that his previous assumptions had been rooted partly in experience. "You are clever, iell." He held up the glass flagon of wine with a questioning brow raise. Tauriel shook her head and returned her empty glass to his hand. "Far more than most in this kingdom," he continued, rising from his chair to return the wine to the cabinet. He set the soiled glasses on a silver tray.

Thranduil turned and leaned against the nearby desk, folding his arms over his chest. "They have plagued me twice, each at different times. They lasted for one moon cycle. It may be different for you, I am not certain."

Tauriel nodded slowly. As long as they did not last forever, she would endure. The she-Elf rose from her chair and bowed. "I will leave you to your business, my Lord. I did not mean to take so much of your time."

"I am your king," Thranduil replied. "It is my duty to help you in whatever way I can." She smiled in thanks. "Additionally, I expect you in the Guard chambers bright and early upon the morrow." Tauriel's eyes snapped up to the Elvenking's, not daring to hope or guess his meaning. "You are the captain, after all, and you left quite a void in your absence. Hardly responsible." Tauriel couldn't contain a grin at the teasing light in Thranduil's eyes, an expression she had never seen color his countenance before.

She bowed once more and made to exit his study. When she was halfway out, Thranduil called to her again.

"Tauriel, you must understand…everything I do, I do for our people." Gone was the fleeting mischief, replaced by a beseeching stare.

The she-Elf nodded slowly. "I think I do, my Lord." She turned, and the darkness of the hallway swallowed her.

Thranduil returned to his desk, faced again with questions on paper. Some of them he was not sure how to answer.

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><p><em>Hîr nín<em> – my Lord

_Iell_ – girl

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><p><strong><span>Author's Note<span>:**** Thranduil's wife will come into play sometime in the coming chapters. Since Tolkien made no mention of her whatsoever, it's a little more difficult to build an entire character. Young Legolas will also make an appearance, so there might be a flashback chapter. Also, some fans theorize that Thranduil had more children than just Legolas, but I truly do not believe that is the case. I really think Tolkien would have mentioned it if Legolas had siblings, or at the very least alluded to it.**


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